Page 20 of Song of the Dark Wood

Townsfolk were already congregating in the gathering dark. The elders waited on the dais by the temple stairs. Rowan led her family through the crowd of unfamiliar faces, all of them eager to get a glance at her.

Once she was on the dais, she took a breath and closed her eyes. She blocked out everything, connecting with the stillness inside her that allowed her to be an object instead of a person. She slid the mask of a perfect sacrifice into place—calm, confident smile, blank eyes, head held high. Rowan stood tall against her fear; against the assessing gazes of the town; against the terror that grew in her stomach.

You chose to stay. This was your choice, she reminded herself as a bell tolled overhead, calling the town to the ceremony.

As if there had ever been an option other than to stay and play the only role anyone had ever expected of her.

The crowd looked at her like she was their salvation and she hated them for it. The same people who’d fled religious persecution and death in places where the monotheistic religion was rising were content to see her suffer for their beliefs.

There, gathered for the ceremony, it was easy to see differences in the crowd. Though they wore varied clothing, had different skin tones and hairstyles, they were all united as much by their oppression as they were by their beliefs.

A chilly breeze rustled the leafless branches of the blighted trees at the trailhead across the square that led to Wolf’s Keep. Rowan kept her hood in place with one hand, shivering as Elder Falon came to stand beside her.

“By the grace of the Mother, we are here today,” Elder Falon said, his voice rising above the din of whispers. He waited for the crowd to quiet. “We’ve presented our offering, and our Red Maiden was deemed worthy of devouring by the Wolf of the Dark Wood. Let us rejoice about that.”

A cheer went up through the crowd, lauding Orla’s death. Orla wasn’t a person to them. She was a magical object—a buffer between them and the evil that lurked in the Dark Wood.

Rowan was glad for her red hood for the first time in her life. It meant no one could see the horror on her face. Her stomach heaved. They would all cheer when she died, too.

Rowan wanted to scream. She wanted to rip her hood off and tell them all that Orla was a sweet girl who had loved apple cider buns and snuck into the kitchen of Hanna’s bakery in town to bake scones in the little free time she had. That Orla once knitted one gigantic scarf because she didn’t know how to knit anything else, but also lacked the patience to make a blanket.

She wanted to tell them that Orla had never dreamed of a life for herself because their people decided for her what her life would be when she was five years old. She wanted to tell them about Aeoife, who was still just a child, who’d cried for hours over the loss of the older Red Maiden without even thinking about the fact that she was now a heartbeat away from being a sacrifice, too.

But that was not what the people wanted to hear. Rowan’s friend had died, but only the people of Ballybrine would receive comfort.

Elder Falon held up his hands in praise. “We are here to give gratitude for our health and safety. We also honor those who have passed on this week. Will the families of the departed step forward?”

A procession of people dressed in black and gray made their way to the front of the crowd and each of the elders took their time blessing the families and murmuring sympathies. When they were finished, Elder Garrett came back to stand beside Rowan.

“We are also here tonight to welcome a new Red Maiden,” Elder Falon continued.

Rowan shifted as the weight of thousands of eyes fell on her.

Elder Falon placed a hand on her shoulder. “Blessed by the Mother from birth and consecrated by the Crone at five, she’s been studying for fifteen years. Fifteen years of lessons, prayer, and meditation. We believe she’s ready to take on the responsibility. However, if there are any who would speak against her worthiness, let them speak now or forever hold their tongues.”

Rowan’s eyes flew to where Finn stood with a cohort of huntsmen by the path to the Dark Wood. He opened his mouth and closed it. His arms remained helplessly crossed over his chest, knuckles white from their grip on his arms.

The silence was deafening. Rowan wasn’t sure what she’d hoped would happen. If someone spoke against her, the mantle would pass to Aeoife, and that would be worse. She clasped her shaking hands to still them.

“Very well,” Elder Falon said. “I now allow you to look for the first time upon her face. Let us all remember and honor the name—Rowan Cleary, your new Red Maiden.”

Elder Falon lifted Rowan’s hood, and for the first time, the people of her village saw her. The crowd went silent as they took her in. Hands crossed over hearts before opening to offer murmurs of thanks to the Mother. Several people went down on one knee once they finished gawking.

Their faith astonished Rowan, even though she resented it. She was the one making a sacrifice, yet it was always the Mother getting credit. All good things were attributed to the Mother, all uncertainty was soothed by the Crone, and all evil was the work of the Wolf. Red Maidens were simply the sacrifice to keep evil at bay. A small price to pay unless you were the one paying it.

Their beliefs were tidy; they didn’t require critical thinking, just blind faith—something Rowan had never possessed. Maybe she would have if she was among the pretty young girls who wereup for marriage this season, gathered at the front of the crowd in colorful frocks. Maybe if all she had to worry about was landing a husband and living a mindless life at his side, she’d not think critically about what her beliefs cost.

“We ask that the Crone, who is the mortal embodiment of the Mother’s wisdom, step forward and give her blessing. She sees the truth in things. She sees what is for the good of all, and she steers us on this path of righteousness,” Elder Falon continued.

The Crone stepped forward in her white ceremonial garb. Sarai’s mouth was a tight line as she walked silently beside her mother, carrying some burning herbs. Her eyes were ringed in dark circles that mirrored Rowan’s, and she wondered if her friend had been up all night as well. Only Sarai, Finn, and Aeoife felt that the people’s gain was their loss.

The Crone came to a stop in front of Rowan, her eyes suddenly going cloudy with prophecy. Rowan wondered hopelessly if the Crone might see a way out for her, but her blessing was a formality. They had no one else to ferry the dead since Aeoife was so young, and as far as Rowan knew, the youngest acting Red Maiden in their history had been eighteen.

The Crone’s vision seemed to sharpen and her eyes narrowed on Rowan before widening as she took a tentative step back. She swallowed hard but said nothing as she dipped her fingers in the bowl of water and blessed Rowan’s forehead and heart.

At least she was blessed with a clear heart and mind as she marched to her doom.

“The Mother has given her blessing to Rowan Cleary,” the Crone said with an unmistakable waver in her voice. “She will heal our dying wood and bring abundance to our village. She will please the Wolf.”

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